


organic

by angelatflightrisk



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Dreaming, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Khaji growing and being very confused by it, M/M, Nightmares, Resolved Romantic Tension, Wet Dream, barts trans, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelatflightrisk/pseuds/angelatflightrisk
Summary: Khaji Da, as he develops into his own person, learns he can dream.





	

Artificial intelligence does, contrary to popular belief, need to sleep. Dreamless sleep, a simple recharging and reorganizing process. Likely not even to be classified as “sleep”. Khaji Da would always sleep when Jaime did, if he had nothing better to do– if he didn’t have research to finish, or organizing, or calculations or analyses.

Usually, though, he’d sleep. Would start back up when he felt Jaime rousing.

That’s how it was when he was simply technology, before he gained that sort of sentience… And he’s definitely sentient. How is a completely different question, but he is. He feels things, now. Organic things. Things he doesn’t understand, things he’ll sheepishly ask Jaime about and will get a kind, gentle, not at all upset answer. Jaime’s always happy to answer his questions– about humans, about life, about sensory, about emotions. Friendship, love. Social interaction. Body language. Cues.

Khaji Da is infinitely grateful to his host, his friend. Without him, he doubts he would have ever gained this strange, alarming state of being real. Almost like a real person.

Sometimes, he’ll even switch places with Jaime. Switch control. Become the front. Never in public, only when they’re alone. Just to do things on his own. To understand things.

When he was confused about beds, Jaime had let him take control, his senses enhancing dramatically with being in the front, a little overwhelmed by how small he had felt wrapped in the blankets, feeling so comfortable. It was strange being so snuggly. He’d switched back fairly quickly.

When eating and what purpose it served beyond nutrition eluded him, Bart and Jaime set to work making something really spectacular so he could see just what the hype was.

Of course, that was completely overwhelming. He loved it, but in a very strange way. He’d never get completely used to it, but sometimes he’d hesitantly ask Jaime if he could try whatever he was eating. He never got a negative response.

Khaji can remember that one night in particular, when Bart had set a plate full of food in front of him, sat next to him at the table and leaned in close to point out what different things were.

He learned about something else, then, something he doubted Jaime or Bart had intended. Of course, he’d spoken with Bart before. And Jaime was dating him, the two were “in love”. He’d observed their human courting, had watched them on dates and kissing and even in more intimate acts. It was interesting to him, in a way he couldn’t quite place.

But he thought he had almost put some pieces together, when he looked over at Bart, Bart, his eyes big, green, framed by beautiful dark lashes, his pale face splattered with freckles, his hair curly and messy and completely unruly. A bright grin on his pink lips.

“Are you gonna try it?” Bart had asked. It occurred to Khaji that he was staring. Embarrassment swelled in his chest– out of all the emotions he’d come to be familiar with, that one was a very common one. And a very unpleasant one.

The pieces he thought he’d been putting together suddenly fell apart again, and he had no idea what he’d felt when he looked into those big green eyes. That was one lesson he didn’t put together, and one he, for whatever reason, did not ask Jaime about.

Khaji Da still sleeps. He still needs to. But among all this becoming organic, something interesting started to happen to his sleeping patterns. Dreams. The concept always fascinated him, and he’d done substantial research on it, but had never once experienced it himself. He’d read that most dreams aren’t remembered, but he never forgot a dream that he had.

 

 

In the first one he ever had, he opens his eyes and it’s nighttime, but not quite. Rather, like one of those pictures, with the gorgeous galaxies painted in the sky, unrealistic but so captivating. Khaji had seen the night sky, but Earth is his home. All memories he has start from when he bonded to Jaime. He doesn’t remember space.

But even if this isn’t what it really looks like, wouldn’t it be amazing if it is? He finds himself waiting for Jaime to move, to sit up, eager for his host to look around so he can observe, before he realizes that Jaime isn’t here. Khaji’s in control, completely, and Jaime is nowhere to be found. It’s scary, of course. But it feels like a minor detail, something he can think about later. All he can think about is sitting up, staring up into those splashes of blue and pink and purple, that glittery expanse. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. An unfamiliar feeling rises inside of him.

The grass is soft underneath him, and as he looks down he watches Jaime’s hand– his own hand, at the moment– curl into the soft green, eyes flickering over the flowers that surround him.

He comes up from the dream much like usual coming out of sleep was. Gradual. Soft. Jaime’s voice comes through soft in his mind, the boy apparently having felt him wake up.

[Hey, _buenos dias._ You slept a lot later than you usually do.]

Khaji took note of their surroundings– school. Algebra, second block. Was he asleep that long?

[I had a dream] Khaji told him, and observed as his pencil stopped moving. The scarab ignored the flustery, sheepish feeling he felt, continuing, [I’ve never had a dream before.]

[Was it a good dream?]

[It was. It was beautiful.]

[That’s awesome, ese. Are you confused about anything? Y’know, questions?]

[No] Khaji watched Jaime play with the string of his jacket, [No. I think I’m okay. I’ll tell you if that changes. Thank you, Jaime.]

 

 

[What did you do.]

“You don’t like it?”

Jaime’s busy checking it out in the mirror, running his hands through it, grinning like he thinks it’s the best thing in the world. He probably does.

[Put it _back_.]

“Khaji, I can’t. It’s hair. You don’t just put it back.”

Jaime had shaved his head, on either side, leaving only the hair in the middle.

“I love it,” Jaime tells him, “It’s got this… neat little punk-rock kind of look to it, you know?”

[No.]

“No, ‘course you don’t,” Jaime hums, running a hand through it again. It’s messy, now that it’s only that bit of hair, and the closely shaved parts on the side. Longer than it usually is, but not by much. Khaji looks at it a little longer.

[I… suppose it’s not bad.]

“Yeah?”

[Affirmative. I… could get used to it.]

“Bart loves it,” Jaime tells him, that grin on his face as he does, “I showed him and I swear he squealed. I’m never changing it.”

Khaji Da felt something relatively new, but for some reason he could tell what it was right away– fond exasperation.

 

 

Khaji doesn’t realize he’s dreaming, at first. That’s still a foreign concept to him, after all. All he knows is that he’s in Jaime’s bedroom, which feels very normal, very real. He’s sitting on the edge of Jaime’s bed. There’s something– someone in his lap, someone sort of small.

This person, this boy, leans back and suddenly Khaji can see him. A mess of auburn hair, big green eyes and a freckly face. He’s blushing. He looks sleepy, but not quite. It’s that look when he and Jaime are intimate, when they have sex or when they’re “making out”. It’s one thing Khaji has never experienced firsthand, has only observed and never asked about.

Ever.

Bart giggles, a familiar sound, and Khaji feels the speedster’s arms wrap around his neck. Khaji loves moments like this. It’s interesting, it’s exciting, it stirs feelings inside of him that he doesn’t understand but wants to. Bart leans back in, starts kissing Jaime, and Khaji feels that excitement swell in his chest.

He wonders why Jaime’s not moving, not kissing him back, not touching his mate (or, what humans called them– boyfriend). Experimentally, he tries to raise a hand, and realizes that he’s in control. That doesn’t make sense– where’s Jaime?

“Khaji,” Bart whines against his lips, in that voice he whines Jaime’s name in, and it makes Khaji Da’s blood go cold. What’s that feeling? He doesn’t understand it. He thinks that scared him, but he doesn’t see why it would.

Say something.

“Bart,” He returns, flatter than he intended, and he understands suddenly what he’s feeling. Fear, yes, but because he’s embarrassed. Flustered. From his observations of humans and dating rituals, it’s natural to feel flustered or even scared when put in an intense romantic situation.

Having an explanation eases his nerves a little, but not much, not when Bart’s face tucks itself into his neck, that soft mouth leaving a trail of licking kisses along the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. It’s sensitive. It leaves Khaji gasping, unsure what to do with his hands, what to say, how to sit.

“Khaji,” Bart repeats. He’s in one of Jaime’s hoodies, it’s hanging off his shoulders. In one of those pairs of shorty shorts that Jaime loves so much. The skin of his legs are soft, warm against Khaji’s palm. The speedster keeps kissing his neck, and it feels incredible, and that feeling he’d felt that night almost comes together before he closes his eyes for a second and is suddenly awake, abruptly, in the middle of Jaime’s conversation with none other than Impulse.

Impulse is the correct name here– The speedster is in costume, in the cave’s main area, those green eyes trained on Jaime like he’s waiting for something.

“Did it work?”

“Yeah, he’s awake,” Khaji hears Jaime answer, and upon realizing that they’re talking about him he feels embarrassment shoot through his mind, “Morning, Khaji–”

“Actually, _afternoon_ –” Bart supplies helpfully, tucking a strand of curly auburn behind his ear, in a movement that’s utterly adorable. That thought doesn’t help his embarrassment, his confusion towards these very organic feelings.

“–I really hate to wake you up,” Jaime continued, “But we’re about to head out on a mission, and–”

[Right] Khaji cuts him off, [Apologies, Jaime Reyes. I… didn’t intend to sleep that long. I was dreaming. It won’t happen again]

“Don’t be sorry,” Jaime assured him, and worry took over Bart’s features, so Jaime quickly supplied, “He’s okay, Bart. He was dreaming. That’s kind of new for him. Khaji– you can do that, you know. Not that it’s a choice, but I’m not gonna tear you up for it. Was it a good dream?”

Bart’s face split into a smile, apparently eager to hear about Khaji’s dream. Khaji had never felt more embarrassed, and he quickly answered, [It was fine. You can wake me when you wake, Jaime. It will prevent future mishaps. I’d hate to miss an emergency due to a dream.]

“No, you deserve to be able to figure your stuff out. You’re changing, you know? It’s gotta be weird. No, I’ll let you dream. I’ll wake you if I need you. Don’t stress. Okay?”

A pause.

[…Affirmative, Jaime Reyes.]

 

 

[Jaime?]

It was quiet for a moment, Jaime pausing his page-turning of his math book to reply, “Yeah?”

[You. Um.] A pause. He tried again, [I have a question.]

“Sure,” There wasn’t even a pause as he closed his book, “Anything. What is it?”

[Anything?]

Khaji Da felt a kind of worry go through Jaime’s mind, and it did nothing to help his own anxiety.

“Sure. What is it?”

[I. Um.] A pause. He tried again. His words came out mechanical, tumbling out nearly without his consent, [I am very fascinated by human’s more sexual relations. Intercourse is understandable– Human mating, for the purpose of reproduction. However the concept of how… You and Bart are, frankly, eludes me. The frivolousness of it all. Sometimes your relations even lack intercourse. It seems pointless, and I do not understand what makes it desirable. Or why the two of you are so taken with it.]

“Khaji–”

[And– I don’t understand why you would do it at all if not for reproductive purposes. But I’ve found myself taken with it too, I think. I am… incredibly confused. I don’t understand. Can you…  help me with the concept?]

A pause, a long pause, too long. Khaji panicked, his first thought: he crossed a line.

He’d done research, of course, and from what he found humans are very private creatures in regards to sexual relationships.

“It’s…” Jaime started, “It’s, I don’t know? It’s hard to explain I guess? Um, do you… Do you want me to show you?”

[I’ve read that humans are very private with their sexual habits. That you’re all… skittish about it. I– Don’t want to step over any lines.]

“Khaji,” Jaime sighed, setting his book aside, “I’ve told you before that it’s your body too. You’re allowed to be curious. And you have a right to bodily things as much as I do. Switch with me. No lines crossed.”

Hesitation, then complicity. Senses increased as Khaji took control, feeling things unfiltered, undulled. It never failed to make him understand, actually feeling things for himself rather than through the dramatically dulled haze of being in the background noise.

[You good?]

“Y–” Using his voice out loud felt strange. Always did. He stopped, swallowed, tried again, “–Yes.”

[Okay. So, um, I guess– Just… I mean, I guess I should ease you into this. Here– take the palm of your hand.]

Khaji obeyed, holding it up.

[And just, like… hover it over your… you know.]

Embarrassment as he followed directions, that irrational need for privacy. It felt human. Organic. Very much so. It was fascinating.

[Yeah, and just, like. Press down. Do whatever feels good.]

“Feels good?”

[Yeah. That’s, like, the whole point.]

Confusion. “The point of sexual intercourse is reproduction.”

[Khaji Da. Just do it, okay? Trust me.]

Khaji Da did trust him. A deep breath, and then the palm of his hand pressed gingerly into himself.

Woah.

Harder. It was almost enough to get a moan from him, and if he wasn’t so self-conscious he might have. Experimenting. Working into a pattern. Following advice from Jaime. Eventually, growing very hard. So hard it hurt.

“Jaime– Is it supposed to hurt like that?”

[Yeah, yeah, it’s okay. You’re good. Just take the pants off. Your shirt, too.]

Embarrassment, but complicity. It feels better without the tight confinements of the jeans, free but just as hard, as tight.

[Wrap your hand around it. Just go up and down.]

And as Khaji followed these directions, feeling that pleasure, he understood. It felt amazing. He even understood why it felt amazing– If sex felt good, organic beings would be more drawn to it, and thus would be infinitely more likely to further the species.

Science talk aside, it felt incredible. He couldn’t help the sounds he made, and it confused him a little what the point of the sounds were. Pleasure built up, tight, hot. Pressure.

“What is that?”

[You’re close? It’s fine, keep going. That’s the best part.]

Complicity without the capacity to be embarrassed. He came so hard he swore he saw stars, and it was instantaneous when he switched back out for Jaime, similar to a skittish kid hiding behind a parent.

Khaji, in a dizzy sort of haze, watched Jaime sigh, clean up the mess.

“Do you get it now?”

[Yes.] Khaji told him quickly, [God. Yes.]

Jaime lets him experiment as much as he wants after that.

 

 

The dream started in a haze. Confusion from being put in an unfamiliar scenario, from being in control. Where was Jaime?

There was someone in front of him. He was in Jaime’s room. He was sitting on Jaime’s bed, and there was someone in between his legs, kissing him. Kissing him. The kiss was slow, passionate. It made warmth rise in Khaji’s chest, a chill shoot down his spine at the same time. Fingers were threaded in his hair. He was breathless by the time the person pulled back enough so he could look at them, see who it was.

Jaime. His hair in a little mess, that new haircut falling into his eyes just slightly. He reached up, raked his hand back through his hair– a habit he’d recently picked up.

“Jaime,” Khaji practically choked on the name. When Jaime smiled it was beautiful, stunning, charismatic and sweet and warm. Khaji could hardly breathe.

“Does that feel good?” Jaime asked him, his voice husky in a way Khaji was used to hearing from when his host was with Bart. That line– another thing frequently used with Bart. Khaji was confused, for all of two seconds before he felt a kind of indescribable pleasure building below his stomach.

“Jaime–”

“Shh, _carino_ , it’s okay. It’s okay.”

His hand, moving up and down, in motions that weren’t as clumsy as Khaji’s own. Practiced. Perfect. That pleasure, that pressure he felt before, building up. Jaime kissing him. Coming hard into his host’s hand.

He woke up with a start to the dark quiet of his and Jaime’s room. Jaime, sound asleep, oblivious.

Khaji felt something new, akin to embarrassment but worse– shame.

 

 

“So, do you like it?”

“Do I like what?”

“The haircut,” A smile splits the speedster’s face, some of his curly hair falling into his green eyes when he tilts his head. He reaches out, cards his fingers through Khaji’s hair, then moves his hand down to run over the shaven area. Khaji can’t help the shiver.

“It’s… acceptable. I suppose. It’s difficult to get used to–”

“I love it.” Bart informs the scarab, those green eyes flashing with a sort of delight, “It’s so hot. Jaime knows I think it’s so hot. You two look hot, Khaji.”

“Um,” Khaji mumbles, and he can feel his face starting to burn red, embarrassment flooding his veins. Bart giggles, a cute sound, a familiar sound, and that embarrassment burns brighter.

“It’s a compliment. Take it,” Bart tells him, that smile bright. Bart’s never been a boy of much shame, but his complete shamelessness is, honestly, overwhelming. Khaji Da resists the urge to hide behind Jaime, because he does like Bart. He’s cute, he’s sweet, he’s fun. Khaji Da wants to actually talk to him, is determined to succeed in human interaction– a lot by Jaime’s encouragement.

Bart turns his attention back to the movie, and Khaji calms himself down.

 

 

Something new. Again, he doesn’t know it’s a dream.

His back is against the bed, and there’s someone straddling his hips, someone kind of small. Petite. Hands pressed to Khaji’s chest, Khaji’s hands on those small-set hips. Those gently rocking hips.

Khaji understands very suddenly when the pleasure hits him that he’s inside of this person. It rips a pathetic sound from his throat, makes those fingers curl over his chest. The person huffs a laugh, and Khaji opens his eyes.

Bart. Naked, his hips centered over Khaji’s, rocking back and forth. Khaji watches his dick slip in and back out, watches Bart’s pussy take it, watches wet slip from that cute, pink little cunt. This is technically new territory for him, even though he’s watched this secondhand with Jaime and Bart plenty of times.

“Khaji,” Bart whines, his eyes closing, “Khaji.”

“Bart,” Khaji returns, his hips jumping against his will. It makes Bart cry out, and for a second he thinks he’s hurt him, before the sees the delighted expression on his face.

“Bart–” Incredible pleasure is welling up inside him, and Bart’s mouth is everywhere, his cute giggle, that tight hot pussy attached to him.

“Bart– I–” He can’t take it. Feelings he doesn’t understand, doesn’t know how to make sense of, and finally they come tumbling out. He knows they’re true the second he says them. The pieces finally falling together.

“–I love you.”

Everything stops dead. It’s like the oxygen is sucked out of the air, the light. Bart’s still sitting on his hips, Khaji’s cock still inside him. Terror laces through Khaji’s veins. Bart’s staring at him, just staring. Like he’s crazy.

“You love me?” He repeats, and when Khaji doesn’t respond he laughs. Outright laughs, throws his head back and _laughs_ , like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Khaji’s frozen, stuck still. His hands tremble where they sit on Bart’s hips.

“I–” Bart laughs, a little giggle now, looking at Khaji like he’s got two heads. His hips rock into Khaji once, twice, and Khaji cries out. It feels good. Bart starts laughing again.

“Oh my god. That’s– How can you love me? You’re not even a person.”

It hurts. It hurts a lot. Khaji didn’t know words could hurt like that, like they could feel so bad. That they could burn like that. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to.

“You’re technology,” Bart giggles. And then the smile drops from his face, “You’re Reach tech that stole half of my boyfriend’s body. You’re not a person. You can’t have feelings, and you can’t love.”

“That’s–” Khaji can hardly breathe, “That’s not true.”

“Oh no?”

“No. Jaime… Jaime told me–”

“Jaime told you what?” Bart’s face is split in a grin. Khaji hates it. He hates how it makes him feel. He wants to scream.

“J-Jaime told me–” Khaji tries again, “Jaime told me that I’m… I’m real now. That my… my feelings aren’t flukes, they’re real, and… and I’m becoming a person, that it’s my body too, that–”

“Jaime’s so sweet, isn’t he?” Those pretty hips rock into Khaji, the perfectly soft wetness of his inside feeling like the worst thing Khaji has ever felt. Bart laughs, “He’s so sweet. Takes pity. So sweet. He’d say anything to make someone feel better. He’d even lie to a cluster of tech because he felt sorry for it.”

Being called an it burns Khaji up, “Jaime wouldn’t lie to me.”

“He wouldn’t? How do you know?”

“He– He wouldn’t. It’s Jaime. He wouldn’t hurt me. He–”

“You love him.”

It’s not a question. When Khaji looks back up Bart looks revolted.

“You _love_ him. You love _me_. Oh my god.”

“Bart–”

Pain. Sharp, quick, in his face. Bart slapped him. The speedster is screaming when he speaks again. Khaji can make out every word, every accusation about that awful future.

No. No, that wasn’t Khaji. It wasn’t. It wasn’t. He’s different. He’s growing, he’s learning, he’s loving.

He wakes up in control and screaming. It wakes up Jaime. Jaime, who’s very concerned, who panics when Khaji Da starts crying.

 

 

Bart called it an “emergency feelings-jam”. Jaime called him and said Khaji Da had a problem, and in two seconds he was there with junk food and a fluffy blanket, which he instantly draped around Khaji’s shoulders.

“So,” He says now, sitting across from Jaime. Jaime, because Khaji is hiding, “What’s wrong?”

“He’s been dreaming, you know,” Jaime tells Bart, “I think he’s also been having nightmares.”

Bart falters with what he was doing with the snacks, stops, sets it aside. He looks back up, searches Jaime’s face, “Hey Khaji?”

Khaji’s hanging onto his words, and Jaime says, “He’s listening.”

“Nightmares are the worst. Nobody likes them. You know what else? Organic feelings? They’re the worst too, sometimes. But the cool thing about having them is that if you talk about them, you feel better. Guaranteed. Unless you have a bad listener for a friend, which isn’t your case. I care about you, okay? You can talk about it. Me and Jaime’ve got you.”

Khaji hesitates, before he gently switches with Jaime.

“…You won’t… You won’t like it.”

Bart opens his mouth, but Khaji talks again.

“It’s about you. And about some things that… I’m not positive you’ll appreciate. You’ll, likely, be disgusted, especially if what I’ve read about the human outtake on monogamy and exclusivity in relationships is correct.”

That seems to throw both Bart and Jaime for a loop. Bart blinks, tilts his head, “I– Um. What?”

Khaji closes his eyes, looks down. It helps with the sensory. He talks about it. All of it. Uncensored, honest. Trusting them both completely.

He doesn’t look up until he’s finished, and when he does Bart hugs him. To say it isn’t the reaction he was expecting would be a massive understatement. Bart’s face is tucked into his neck, his breath warm against his skin. He shivers.

“You’re– not upset?”

“Khaji, we humans have a little rule. You can’t be mad at someone for something they do in a dream. Dreams are just brain-junk. You don’t choose what happens in them. The only things are– Are you okay? I’m a little worried that you think I’d say all those things to you.”

“I think it’s less that–” Jaime chimes in, his hand coming up to card through Bart’s hair, still hugging him close, “And more that he was afraid of the possibility, regardless of if it was a rational worry. Or, he was projecting his own insecurities in this dream version of you. Khaji?”

“I–” Khaji switches back in, his fingers twitching in Bart’s hair, “I guess so.”

“Did you mean it?”

A pause.

“What?”

“You said you loved us. Me and Jaime. Did you mean it?”

Another pause. Longer. Worse.

“…Yes.”

He feels Bart smile against his neck, watches him pull back and look into his eyes. Then he giggles, and if that isn’t the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen. He panics, almost hides behind Jaime.

“Khaji, we love you, too,” Bart tells him, pressing his forehead to Khaji’s, “Jaime knew it already. He can feel how you feel, especially lately, he said.”

[I wanted you to figure it out first.] Jaime’s voice in his head is gentle, [And I wanted you to be ready to tell us on your own time.]

Khaji’s breathless, speechless, staring into those pretty green eyes until finally, he repeats, “You’re not upset?”

Bart laughs, breathlessly. He leans forward and kisses him, and it feels to Khaji Da like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think, what you want to see, request stuff, draw me things, WHATEVER JUST TALK TO ME my tumblr is
> 
> https://crashtacular.tumblr.com/


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